New Ulm weekly review., 1887-04-06
IN THE OLD ALBUM.
Recollections Revived by Turning Over the Old
Pictures.

Recol1ections Revived by Turning Over the Old
Pictures.
San Francisco Chronicle.
Do you ever open the old album and
look over the pictures? Well, the old
folks your father and mother al
ways look well, for, don't you know,
parents are always old-fashioned.
But there's your aunt, with a coal
Bcuttle bonnet and hoops, and her
hair pasted down oyer her forehead
and parted in the middle, with a, kind
of jaundice complexion and bright
eyes that show in their pupils nothing
but the excited, intense interest of
trying to look into the camera for
fifty seconds without winking. And
you thought she was SO pretty then,
and you remember as child when you
went and told your mother you saw
her being kissed by her beau at the
garden gate. There's her beau, who
afterwards married her. He was so
i Lioo11ASoAl1O, VIII Y yOu hIOW. hOOh
at him. He wears a long frock-coat
with lapels that curl up under his
arms; he has flaming necktie and a
shirt-front showing down to where the
coat looks as if it were tied by string
tight around his waist. His trowsers
don't fit, and his face is all covered
with yellow specks. and he looks as if
he had swallowed a fly and it was in
dying agonies in his windpipe, while
he daren't cough for fear OF spelling
the picture. Then there's yourself.
Well, that's not so bad. You know
you were very pretty as a child, and
you remember the dress, and-well-
you're not quite so old-fashioned-
to yourself-as the others. And
/ you turn the page. There's Fred
whom you Tilted. You look at
him and you're glad you Tilted
him. He used to be so beautifully
pensive. Now he looks like an idiot,
and-well- doubt if he ever could
have been so horrid, anyway. Then
your husband comes along and turns
the book over and says: "Do you
remember that?" You close it on his
fingers; it's fearful. You have an old
fashioned, shapeless, black-silk gown
that looks like gingham, or something
with wide sleeves and big ruffes, and
the skirt is gracefully punched out like
a ahalf-exhausted balloon. And you've
had the picture painted, and the beau
tiful red OF your cheek has become
notified, and the neck is yellow, and
the hair is a dirty brown color, and
/ you've got hold most awkwardly of a
green chair. And your husband Won
ders what he ever could see in you un-
til you show him his own picture.
Then he shuts up suddenly like a knife,
don't you know
And the old gray-headed man comes
and takes up the book. He has lost
the taste for fashions and for styles
and only the faces speak to him. He
thinks, as he looks at this faded and
yellow portrait-it is his wife when
they were both thirty years younger
and photographs were not so com.
mon-she is for a momentyo Dung again
| and he remembers how he stood in the
corner and watched her as the picture
! was taken, afraid to breathe until the
cap was put on, in case some move
ment of his lips might break the spell
and frighten away the sunlight. But
he has another picture older than the
paper photograph. It it a daguerreo
: type. He keeps it to himself. It cost
t him dear. 1t is OF a young girl in the
S first blush of womanhood, and al
the modern cameras in the world, with
all the most patent improvements
and all the most embelishing effect
can never make SO beautiful a pictu1,
{ for him. Well, we'll. God bless tn,
{ old folks. They're trife cranky, but
there's an awfully kindly method il
: their crankiness.
8